Honest Words
by Surplus Imagination
Summary: Michonne didn't understand why she felt the need to go back for Daryl after he went after Merle. Maybe it was something in what Merle said. Michonne always could tell honest words when she heard them. Implied Caryl Tag to 3.15, This Sorrowful Life Michonne, Daryl, Rick and Carol.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters of the Walking Dead belong to Kirkman and AMC. This writing is from pleasure only. No profit is intended.

**_HONEST WORDS_**

When she found Daryl, he was blind drunk, staggering down the middle of the road. Alone.

Michonne crouched down at the edge of the tree-line and watched him for a minute before deciding he was just inebriated, but still human. Idly, she wondered where he got the alcohol and whether there was any left in the bottle. After today, she could sure use a drink.

She didn't really know the raggedy man out in the road. She knew that Andrea had once shot him in the head and laughed about it. Andrea liked him and was impressed with his unschooled shrewdness. Considering Andrea's infatuation with that monster, Blake, Michonne hadn't let Andrea's opinion on Daryl sway her. In fact, she hadn't said more than ten words to the man. He hadn't said more than one word to her, but it was a good one; welcome. And he said it openly, like he meant it. Honest.

Michonne was all about honest. She liked to know who she was dealing with. She got satisfaction from figuring people out. After her 'ride' with Merle earlier, Michonne found herself wanting to figure the man out. As far as she could tell, Merle had told her nothing but truth in the car. It was something she never expected from Merle. Honesty.

Off to her left, a couple of dead were lumbering toward the man in the road. With a flick of her wrist, Michonne loped off the top of one head and caught the other in the throat. Damn biters were never the same height.

Another swipe and the second one's head went the rest of the way off and rolled into the bushes. Before she could look up from watching it roll, a whooshing sound blew right past her left head and thunked behind her. A sting of pain ghosted across her cheek.

Startled, Michonne looked up to the rock-steady stance of Daryl pointing an empty crossbow directly at her head. He nudged his chin to the right. Michonne whirled and caught a second silent biter with the hilt of her katana. One push in the right direction, a flash of blade and another head rolled into the bushes. With a big sigh, Michonne rolled her eyes and huffed. She just hated chasing down zombie heads. Had to be done, or else they might bite someone in the foot, but she hated it all the same.

Annoyed, Michonne looked out of the bushes at Daryl again. Her irritation increased as he started swaying drunkenly. The damn redneck could have hit her with that bolt. That pissed her off as much as Merle obviously getting himself killed. With a grunt, she stood all the way up and left the bushes.

"How the hell did you see me?" Michonne demanded as she skewered the first head. "I know I was in good cover and its nearly dark."

Daryl blinked at her a moment and then, jerkily, did a complete turn looking for more undead. His movements kinda looked like stop-motion photography. Michonne couldn't help but smile a little, releasing some of that irritation.

When he didn't see any more threats, Daryl lowered the bow and tried to reload. In his drunken state, he couldn't quite get the bolt off the rack and ended up landing on his ass. Hard. This time, Michonne laughed out loud. "Give me a minute, Robin Hood. I'll help you up."

Michonne quickly located the other two heads and dispatched them with a grunt. Then she retrieved the bolt from the one she had missed. The hit was perfectly centered in the eye. Flawless. Impressive for a drunken man. Hell, just plain _impressive_.

By the time Michonne walked back out on the road, Daryl was staggering down the road again, a fully loaded crossbow strung across his back. Without a word, Michonne fell into step beside him. After a minute, she swiped the bottle that hung loosely in one hand and took a swallow. It was Jack Daniels. The warm whiskey burned all the way down. It was a good burn. She took another swallow and then emptied the bottle with a last sip.

"I hope to hell you didn't drink the whole rest of that bottle," Michonne exclaimed, tossing the empty into the night. "I'd hate to have to make you puke some of that up. But I'd rather do that than let you die of alcohol poisoning."

Daryl just snorted. "Saved your ass back there. You owe me," he slurred.

"Maybe," she agreed. "Maybe I just can't face giving you mouth-to-mouth if you fall into a coma."

Daryl snorted again, but kept on walking. After another silent minute or two, he finally ventured an answer. "Didn't drink the whole bottle. Think it was Merle's. It's his brand."

Michonne just nodded. She figured as much. Back in Woodbury, it was a poorly hidden secret that Merle stashed bottles of Jack Daniels all around the town. Anyone could find one if they wanted to go on an Easter egg hunt for them. Michonne was inclined a time or two.

"You found your brother then," she asked quietly.

"Not soon enough." The response was so quiet she doubted the words. They had gone another mile or so, before Daryl spoke again.

"Found twelve fresh dead with a head shot. Figured that's how many Merle nailed before Blake found him," Daryl rasped out, going quiet again.

They were nearly back to the prison gates when Daryl stopped suddenly and looked at her with unfocused eyes. "Merle had his chest blown in. All but one finger in his last hand was bitten off."

Michonne watched as Daryl's breath hitched a bit. Waited patiently for him to finish.

"Blake left Merle to turn. Left him for _me_. Had to..," Daryl trailed off and lurched toward the side of the road, emptying his stomach. Michonne gave him a little privacy and watched the road. Eventually the heaving died off.

"Twenty-eight men, then," Michonne mused as Daryl stumbled back to her. She grabbed one muscled arm and steadied him for a minute. "Merle told me in the car that he had killed sixteen men for the Governor. He regretted their deaths."

"Merle never regretted nothin' in his whole life," Daryl countered, looking at the ground.

"He let me go right after he told me that," Michonne said as she studied Daryl's pallor. "Said it _weighed_ on him."

Daryl nodded in response. "It weighs on me, too. Think I killed three getting Glen and Maggie free. Gonna haunt me until the day I die."

Michonne nodded back, suddenly uncomfortable. After shuffling for a minute, she turned and caught Daryl's eye. Stared at him hard.

"You know Merle did that for you. For the group. To give you all a chance." She studied his fading features. "Merle cared about you more than anything else in his life."

"I know," Daryl whispered and turned away.

Together, they made their way to the gates. Daryl stumbled hard and almost went down. With a sigh, Michonne levered one arm over her shoulder. For not such a big man, Daryl was really heavy.

"I'm sorry Rick almost traded you to Blake. He was wrong," Daryl rasped, slumping further against her.

"Stop talking. You smell like a distillery."

This was one subject she didn't want to explore. She knew how Blake worked. How masterfully he crafted his attacks. Mind games. Rick hadn't stood a chance. Neither had Andrea.

Rick and Carol met them at the gates. Without a word, Rick took Daryl off her hands and heaved him over one shoulder. Together, they took the semi-conscious man to the showers, cleaned him off and forced coffee down his throat. No one said a word about Daryl's scarred up body, or the occasional tear that leaked from his eyes. They just took care of him and dumped him on a cot to sleep it off. Carol sat on the floor, leaning her back against the cot keeping a close watch.

Afterwards, Rick handed Michonne her own cup of coffee while she told them what happened in the car and on the road. She left out the part where Merle admitted to killing sixteen men for the Governor. That belonged to just her and Daryl. She didn't leave out the part where Merle had done it for the group. To give them all a chance.

"Thank you for bringing him back," Carol whispered from her post by the cot.

"I was wrong," Rick told her. "I'm sorry."

Honesty. She definitely heard honesty in those words. Michonne merely nodded and settled in to help keep watch over her new friend.

Maybe this place could be her place. These people her people.

She owed that much to Merle.

_**AN:** I'm really enjoying the developing friendship of Daryl and Michonne. They both seem like such honest souls if you peel back the layers._

_Thanks for reading. Please drop me a line and let me know if you enjoyed the story. I hope to hear from you._

_Surplus_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer :**__The Walking Dead, Michonne, Daryl, Carol and all the other characters on the show (and the other characters) are the property of Robert Kirkman and AMC. Sadly, I do not own these characters. This writing is for pleasure only. No profit is intended._

"Are you heading back out? I packed you some rations."

Michonne paused from packing her messenger bag. She was surprised that anyone would bother her. So far, she had been left completely alone. It was the way she liked it.

Raising just her eyes, Michonne took in the presence of Carol standing respectfully outside the gloomy cell. In her hands rested a partly filled flour sag. Michonne guessed it contained 'rations', whatever the hell that was.

"It's not much, but it should keep you going for a few days," Carol offered, raising the bag a little.

"That's mighty nice of you," Michonne said, as she remembered her manners. It had been a long while since she had pulled out and exercised those. The ghost of Andrea laughed in her head and prompted a better response. "Thank you," she said finally.

Taking that as acceptance, Carol smiled brightly and entered the cell. Placing the bag on the bunk next to the sheathed katana, she folded her arms over her chest and paused.

"Something else on your mind?" Michonne didn't really want to know, but she was trying to be polite today. She picked up the bag and was surprised by its weight. Hefting it a couple of times, she ventured, "Seems like a lot for one person." Glancing out of the corner of her eye, Carol looked guilty.

"The food is for you. I really did mean to bring you some," Carol temporized, biting her lip. "It's just….well…..I was wondering if you could also do me a favor?"

_Damn_. A bribe. Michonne stared at Carol's big, blue, hopeful eyes. She knew there had to be a catch.

"What's that?" she asked, stuffing the food into her bag along with a fresh pair of socks and 'lady stuff'. Bribe, or no, she could use the supplies.

"I was wondering if you could keep an eye out for Daryl?"

Michonne didn't bother to look up this time. She knew what she'd see, big blue puppy-dog eyes. "He gone missing?"

"I don't know."

That one got her attention. Michonne stowed the sack and picked up the bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she turned to Carol. The woman was looking at the floor worried. Michonne studied her face. Mid-forties. Short grey hair. Nondescript, unless the woman smiled. Michonne remembered Merle's brother making her smile a couple of times. It was nice.

"Something I should know about?" Michonne picked up her katana and slung it over the other shoulder. A languid shrug and the two items settled comfortably into place.

Soundlessly, Carol picked up the last item on the bed, a knife, and twirled it in her hands. After a long moment, she finally spoke. "Daryl isn't taking his brother's death well," she said, looking up ruefully.

"There a right way to grieve?" Michonne asked, becoming impatient. Daylight was burning and she had a powerful desire to get on the road. She held out her hand for the knife.

"No, I don't mean that," Carol shook her head. "He's pulling away. It's not good for him to pull away." Wiping her eyes a little, Carol handed over the knife. "He's done it before...when he thought things were his fault."

"Is it?" Michonne asked, honestly curious.

Carol snapped cold, blue, hard eyes on the woman. "No. It wasn't his fault then and Merle's death isn't his fault now."

"And that's my cue to leave," Michonne muttered, backing away. This really wasn't something that she had any intention of getting involved with. She had her own plans with death and they didn't involve saving Merle's brother.

"No, please," Carol pleaded, two tears running free. "He's important." She grabbed at Michonne's arms. "To all of us." A long pause, then quietly, "To me."

Michonne felt the two tears roll off of Carol's face and land on her arm. She didn't have it in her to snatch the limb away. "That's an understatement," Michonne snorted, understanding the truth in the words. "Alright, I'll see what I can do," she said, grudgingly.

_For Merle_, Michonne told herself, although she didn't understand why she felt that way.

She found Daryl later that evening, dressing out a eight-point buck. The prison would eat well for at least a week. Content that she had earned her bag of rations from Carol, Michonne settled in to keep a watch out for biters while the man worked.

"That's a big deer," Michonne called out softly from her cover in the bushes when it seemed like he was done. To her irritation, Daryl didn't even twitch. She had a sneaking suspicion that he knew she was there all along.

"Probably gonna be tough, old as he is," Daryl said digging out a hole to bury the guts.

Michonne didn't offer to help. Guts were nasty things. She preferred keeping her distance. When he was done, Daryl knelt again and started sawing off the head.

"What are you doing?" she asked, grossed completely out.

Daryl never paused his work. "The woman back at the prison have an awful sympathy for Bambi here," he said dragging the head apart by the antlers. "The eyes gets them all upset. I guess they don't like it lookin' at 'em. So, I hack off the head before I go back," he sighed, obviously tired. Deep circles darkened his eyes. He shrugged and continued to work.

"Very considerate of you," Michonne agreed, still repulsed. "Are you gonna bury the head, too?"

Stopping mid-stroke, Daryl looked up surprised. An instant later, he barked out a laugh. It was a strange, strained sound. "Aw, hell," he chuckled. "Didn't think of that a minute ago."

The look of amusement took years off his weathered face. Michonne studied it a moment, returning the small smile. Not a large man, but not small either. There was something there in his expression that was appealing. Before now, she hadn't given his looks a second glance. Maybe it was because she now knew that this man was important to Carol as well as Merle.

In the end, Michonne helped Daryl dispose of the buck's head after sawing off the antlers and cracking out the brain. It was all disgusting, but Daryl insisted they were useful. The antlers could be used for a dozen different things. In payment for her help, he promised to make her a carved handle for her knife one day. The brain was to be used in curing the deer hide.

"Whatever," Michonne responded with distaste to that last bit. For some reason, the phrase made Daryl still. They were trussing up the cleaned carcass to a long stick, to carry it between them back to camp.

"He talked about you once," Daryl finally said, finishing the knots.

"All bad, is my guess," Michonne replied. She straightened up and cracked her back. It was sinful, how good that felt.

"He felt bad for trying to kill ya," Daryl said, dropping heavily to the ground. "He didn't say it outright, but I could tell."

Squinting against a beam of late afternoon sun, Daryl looked up and spoke again. "Said that you reminded him of one of those warrior women in them Greek stories. Amazons. He said you and Andrea were both ones."

"That's quite a ...um.. compliment," Michonne mused. "I'm surprised that he didn't say we were both from the island of Lesbos," she laughed.

Daryl joined in. "Different story, but true 'nough for Merle."

The laughter died off, and they both looked around, thoughtful. Each deep in their own memories. After a time, Daryl climbed to his feet. He shouldered his crossbow and the picked up the heaviest end of the deer. "When we get back, you gonna after the Governor again?"

"Expect so." Michonne picked up the other end. It was heavier than she thought, but bearable.

"I'll come with you, if ya like," Daryl offered. "Got some skill at trackin'. Figured that there's a good trail out there."

"So I've heard." Michonne thought about the idea and liked it fine. "What about the prison? I've also heard you're important around there."

Daryl gave her a sharp look, then reluctantly nodded. "Expect so, at least to some." He started moving at an even pace. "Ain't good for anyone to be alone out there. Ya need someone to watch ya back."

"And you?" Michonne couldn't help but ask.

Around them, the woods glowed with the coming afternoon sun. It was easy to imagine that this was just another afternoon, another day. She'd be bringing back some meat for Andrea to char into blackness. That woman never could cook worth a damn.

"I want to run the bastard down and take his other eye," Daryl growled. "You can have the rest."

"Tomorrow morning then," Michonne agreed, hearing the honest admission in Daryl's words.

"But first you've got to get rid of those brains. That's about the nastiest thing I've ever heard." Behind her, Daryl snorted, but kept silent.

They'd make a good team out there.

_Merle_, Michonne thought to herself. _We're even._

tbc…

**AN: Michonne is an interesting character, full of depth. She and Daryl seem like an unstoppable team. I hope you drop me a line and let me know if I got her voice right.**

**Thanks for reading! Surplus Imagination**


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